


Why, you Little-!

by Garfield (VirtualBirthdayParty)



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: (drinking and smoking isn't gonna be super in depth), Character Death, Character Study, Christianity (comes with Ned Flanders of course), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirtualBirthdayParty/pseuds/Garfield
Summary: 'He doesn’t realize he’s home until everyone else has gotten out of the car.“Bart.”Patty? What’s Patty- Oh, yeah.“What’s up, Pat?” He likes calling her that, he remembers. She hates it.It’s just her and him. He feels pressure at his throat.She pinches her face, blowing smoke. She’s turned in her seat to look at him.“...You’re a good kid.”'Homer's gone, Marge's angry, Lisa's scared, Maggie's... Maggie, and Bart's just tired.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	1. Okay.

The funeral goes quickly. It’s very, very poorly put together, last minute- Really, more of a wake than a funeral, he’s told by Lisa. a burial spot would have been expensive, Marge said, so they paid the hospital to cremate him instead. The wake is held a few hours away at a bar Homer and Marge went to for a date.   
  
All his friends, his many, many, many friends, from many, many, many places cry and sob and hug, and the four of them are just quiet and tired. No tears come until they’re holding the box his ashes are in.   
  
Everything is a blur after that. People talk about how great he is, and how much he’ll be missed.   
  
People sing his favorite songs, tell stories about how much better their lives are because of him.   
  
Patty insists on driving them home. It’s quiet. Thank god. His head hurts.   
  
He just wants it to be quiet.   
  
“Marge, you mind if I smoke? I’ll blow it out the window.”   
  
“Sure.” Marge never agrees to that.   
  
“Marge..? Honey, I know this is.. I know this is awful. I’m trying to hold back, I really am, but-. Honey, honey, he.. He wasn’t good. You know he wasn’t.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
“He didn’t treat you right, sweetheart.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
“He did some really bad things.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
“He hurt your kids.”   
  
A dam breaks.   
  


“He did. He hurt them, he hurt them all the damn time. He.. I just, I loved him. I thought he was good, I thought I could..”   
  
“Fix him.” Lisa supplies.   
  
“He kept- Lisa, he did such awful things to you, and I’m so sorry.”   
  
Lisa sniffles. Oh. That’s not good.   
  
“I’m so sorry, Lisa. I could have protected you. I should have, I should have-”   
  
“Marge, don’t. Lisa knows as well as I do you were trapped, she’s a smart girl.” Patty intervenes, waving her cigarette.    
  
“You and Selma kept telling me! Kept warning me, kept trying to make me see!”   
  
“We pushed you too hard.”   
  
“If I was trapped, it’s because I trapped myself- and, and my kids. God, God, Patty, I wasted years. I wasted the prime of my life with him! I wasted my kid’s childhoods!”   
  


Lisa bends over to put her hand on Marge’s shoulder.    
  
“He was so cruel to you, Lisa! He didn’t care, he acted like you were an idiot, he acted like you were just... just...”   
  
“I know.” Lisa comfortingly holds her hand on her shoulder. Marge’s hand rises up to hold Lisa’s hand. It looks like she’s holding it tight.   
  
“Oh, God, and Maggie.”   
  
Maggie, of course, is silent. She’s crying.   
  
“She’s like that because he never even  _ looked at her! _ ”   
  
She cringes at that. Geez, Marge, way to make her feel bad.   
  
“God. I’m so sorry, you three.”   
  
Mm.   
  
“Bart, he- he.. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Oh.   
  
Marge just repeats that. Her voice is still scratchy. She had screamed, at the hospital, until her voice didn’t work anymore.   
  


He liked it better when he was in the corner, but everyone’s looking at him with their faces pinched. Lisa had taken her hand off Marge’s shoulder and onto his. Maggie signs “Love.”   
  
“Uh… Sorry, guys.” He hears his voice say.   
  
Marge cries harder. Lisa’s face crumples. Maggie signs like crazy, but Bart doesn’t know his ASL all that well. Usually Lisa translates, but.. She seems busy.   
  
“Bart, honey, it’s not your fault. He did this to you, he hurt you. Don’t ever apologize for that.” Patty’s voice wavers.    
  
“Okay.” He grinds out.   
  
The rest of them go back, talking and crying and asking  _ why _ and Bart tunes it out.   
  
Everything fades out. He looks out the window and stares at nothing until he can’t hear them.   
  
He doesn’t realize he’s home until everyone else has gotten out of the car.   
  
“Bart.”   
  
Patty? What’s Patty- Oh, yeah.   
  
“What’s up, Pat?” He likes calling her that, he remembers. She hates it.   
  
It’s just her and him. He feels pressure at his throat.   
  
She pinches her face, blowing smoke. She’s turned in her seat to look at him. She looks like she's thinking pretty hard.   
  
“...You’re a good kid.” She was going to say something else. He doesn’t care to ask what it was.   
  
“Okay.”   
  
His legs move him out of the car. Everyone else had already gone inside.   
  
Everyone’s sat in Marge and H- In Marge’s bedroom. They’re all crying and hugging and watching tv, together.   
  
He’s called up, or maybe pulled by Maggie, he doesn’t know.   
  
They hug him.    
  
Okay.   
  
He says he needs to sleep, he thinks.   
  
He lays down.   
  
He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He thought wouldn’t be able to, like when Dad got diagnosed, and when he was in the hospital, and when they were told Homer wasn't gonna make it, but he’s so goddamn tired.    
  
So, he sleeps.   
  
He doesn’t dream.   



	2. Crap

Weeks go by quickly. Marge cuts her hair short. Dad always wanted her hair long. It’s barely a pixie, now. She doesn’t dye her hair. She lets it go completely gray. Dad hated her gray hair. She looks nice, Bart thinks, but doesn’t say.

Lisa dresses in leather, pins and patches covering her jacket so thoroughly that you can’t even see what’s under all of it. Her grades are barely Cs. She’s going into highschool, soon. She’s gonna end up like himself if she’s not careful.

Maggie stops seeing her speech therapist. Dad was always trying to change her, to make her speak, to be more “normal”, she’s tired of it. Of course she is.

Money’s tight, but Marge gets good widow’s benefits, Lisa explains to him one day when he lets it slip he’s worried. “Mr. Burns is worried we’ll sue, since it could’ve been caused by working at the Plant.” She says, so Mr. Burns gives her something extra on the side every month to stay quiet. He thinks he should feel bad for Homer. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t change much, he thinks. His hair is the same length, he wears the same orange, he'd ride the same skateboard, if it wasn't broken. He can wear v-necks more than he used to be able to, though. He doesn’t speak as much to Milhouse. Or at all. Nelson and his friends leave him alone, lately. He kind of hates it. His grades don’t seem too much worse. He doesn’t get detention as much, doesn’t have to write on the blackboard. Even the teachers leave him alone. Hey, maybe being a Freshman at 15 has some benefits after all.

He doesn’t cry as much as the girls do. Of course not. Not until night, when no one will see, and he only lets himself do it quietly, so no one will hear, and only for a few minutes.

Everything just slips away.

Bzznk, bzznk, bzznk, goes his alarm. He got out his old Krusty alarm from when he was little. He doesn’t know why.

“Ghhh… Shut up.” He mumbles, shoving his pillow over his ear.

Knock, knock, knock, goes the door.

“Bart, honey, time to get up. I need your help.” Marge is saying through the door.

“Just a sec, let me get dressed, man.” He croaks.

She doesn’t respond, just walks away. Thank God. He hates talking.

He gets up, goes to the bathroom, doesn’t brush his teeth- he hasn’t brushed them in months, but he can’t be assed to do it now.

He grabs a white t-shirt and some jeans and drops them when he realizes this is exactly the kind of crap d- Homer would wear.

Black sweatshirt, khakis he wears to church. As far as something Homer would wear that he can get.

He slips out the door.

“Hey, I was told I was needed?”

“We need to get rid of this crap.” Marge says, her voice grumbly and rough, still. Lisa and Maggie are sorting through a pile of.. Well, what can really only be thought of as “Crap”, and photographing it.

“Uh?”

“We’re selling all of the sh- stuff h- Dad hoarded.” Lisa says, not bothering to look at him.

“Oh. Okay. Good thing I brought my phone.” 

He sets out, helping. Pulling things apart and photographing them. He looks a bit to his left and sees that some of Homer’s Duff Beer stuff is shattered and broken, on the floor, next to a hole in the wall. He looks at Marge. Her hand is bandaged. There's twinges of pink and red staining the bandages on her knuckles.

They’ve got through a third of it by the end of the day.

Marge looks tired. Really, really tired. And angry.

She’s sitting on the couch, next to all of Homer’s crap.

He sits next to her- kind of on top of said crap, but it's fine.

“How you doin’?”

“I’m fine, Bart.” Marge says, stiffly.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“..Fine, you want to know why I’m upset? Your goddamn father couldn’t afford our bills, couldn’t afford to take care of us, but he could buy all this shit! I hate it! Where was I even supposed to put all this- And I find out he was two payments behind on everything, on top of it!”

“That’s tough nuts.” He says. He’s not as good at comforting as Lisa is, man, give him a break.

Marge huffs and looks away, crossing her arms. Her bandaged hand twitches when she flexes it.

He thinks about it, he does. He almost says “I love you, Mom.” or “You deserved better.”

Instead he says “Mr. Burns sure did us a favor offing Homer, huh?” And Marge really doesn’t like that one.

They don’t talk for a week, but he keeps helping with selling all of Homer’s crap. As long as Marge doesn’t get rid of him, it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.

She won’t even look at him.

God, why won’t she even fucking look at him? It’s too much like when Homer was around and she wouldn’t look at him after he and Homer would fight. He hates it, it’s not fair.

He cries that night, all night. He didn’t cry like that when Homer died, or when Homer got sick or mean, but he cries like a goddamn baby because he just wants his Mom. 

The weeks pass slowly. 


	3. Treehouse

He’s in the treehouse. It’s about to break, and he’s about to fall with the floor, but who cares? Marge still won’t look at him. He’s been in here since 3 in the morning. It’s 4 in the afternoon, he sees, when he checks his phone.

It’s all fine. He’s fine. He’s hugging his backpack.

Maybe he should just get out of here, skip town. God knows it’d help if there was one less mouth to feed, no one wants him here.

He takes a drag of a cigarette.

He’s fine.

“Hey.”

He jolts, ready to abandon the cigarette, but it’s just Lisa.

“Hey, Lees. Thought I put up the rope.”

“You did. I got a ladder.”

“Oh.”

“Can I sit here?” She’s already sat next to him.

“It’s your funeral.”

“I haven’t been in the treehouse since I was, like, 9. It’s really looking worse for wear.”

“Yeah.”

She pats her hand against his arm, insistently. He tilts his head in confusion before realizing she wants the cigarette. Like when they were little, and Homer and Marge had fought so bad they had to stay at Patty and Selma’s for a month.

He hands the cigarette to her. She pinches it between her fingers and throws it out the treehouse’s “window”.

“Hey! What gives, man?”

She gives him a sharp look.

“Okay, okay, God. Why are you even here, Lisa?”

“You and Mom haven’t spoken to each other in two months. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“It’s not my problem.”

“Yes it is. What happened, Bart?”

He gives an exaggerated sigh. 

“I tried playing your part, comfort her. It didn’t go well, Lees.”

“Oh, God. What did you say?”

“I implied that, perhaps, maybe, it was. A good thing that Homer died.”

“Jesus Christ. That’s really bad, Bart.”

“I know.”

“You really need to do something, here.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe you could say that, Bart.”

“No, spare me that holier-than-thou shit, Lisa. You know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t matter! Mom lost her husband, she’s grieving, you can’t just-”

“Oh, oh, she’s grieving, huh? She never grieved when her husband choked her son.”

“This isn’t about you, Bart!”

“It never is! It never is! It doesn’t matter what happens to me, because Homer saves the town, Homer’s such a great husband, Homer loves his daughters! You don’t get it!”

“I don’t get it? Do you think I got away perfectly free? Do you think Mom did? Do you think Maggie did?”

“You got a pearl necklace, I got bruises. You don’t get to compare.”

“God. You’re whining about how much you hate Dad but right now you’re acting a lot like him, Bart.”

Bart slams his hand against the wall of the treehouse with a large THUD. The entire treehouse shakes.

“Don’t say that! Don’t fucking say that!”

Lisa rises. Her hands are in fists, and she's shaking, but she looks up at him resolutely.

“That’s what this really is, isn’t it, Lees? You’re not trying to make this better, you just want me to stop acting like him, because that’s all anyone sees in me! They just see Homer’s son. Screw that, Lisa. Is that really what you think of me?” His voice steadily rises, until it’s almost yelling, but the effect is lessened by how much it causes him to wheeze and squeak.

Lisa says nothing.

“Yeah, that’s enough of an answer for me. I’m out of here.” Bart waves his hand and grabs his backpack.

“Bart, You don’t get to-”

He’s already down the ladder. He shoves it over. He hopes the rope breaks. He hopes she gets stuck up there. He hopes the treehouse crumples with her in it.

He’s off. Out the yard, into town. Away from them and the stupid house.

Where is he gonna go, first? What is he gonna do? 

He thinks about going to the comic book store and feels a pang. The store closed a week after Homer died. The owner moved to Japan with his wife.

Good for goddamn Comic Book Guy.

Bowling Alley? No, he’s banned from there.

Restaurant? No, the owner mistakes him for Homer.

No, no, no, no no.

That leaves one 'good' option.

Great. And he’s trying to get out from under Homer's shadow.


	4. Jukebox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart talks to a family friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I know I abandoned this for a while. I love this story, and it means so much to me. I am excited to be back to it. It felt.. Less cathartic, and more sad, after some.. incidents, in my family. But I'm glad to find joy in it again!!

It's just as grimy as ever. Of course it is.

The ancient jukebox skips and crackles. It would be almost comforting, if it wasn't ruined by the sound of someone crying- probably Barney, but Bart doesn't really want to look and confirm it. Barney reminds him too much of Homer, somehow. At least it's early enough that Lenny and Carl aren't here.

God, the smell. It's always just a little bit worse than he remembers.

"Hey, kid, whatareya doin' here?" Moe asks. He seems actually, genuinely concerned.

"Just wanted to visit my old pal. My buddy. My amigo. Honorary uncle. Future step-father, if you're lucky."

"Cut the crap. I'm not going to sneak you a drink, kid. Losing my bartending license isn't on the table, not after last time. Sit down, I'll get you a soda."

"Great." Thanks a goddamn lot, Moe. Abandoning Bart too, huh?

He sits down anyway. Barney is crying louder now, but he's on the other side of the room, so at least there's some space.

Moe disappears. When he comes back, he has a bottle of soda that's covered in dust. He pours it over a glass of ice, and slides the glass over the bar.

Bart grabs it. He takes a sip. It's totally flat.

"I asked, but you didn't answer. What brings you here, kid? Looking to drown your woes in cheap, mostly asbestos-free Duff?" Bart only realizes it's a joke when Moe snorts a little. He wouldn't be surprised if there was actually asbestos in the drinks.

"Ha-ha. Funny. I just had to get away from Ma- From Mom, and Lisa, for a little while."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It's weird to talk about it with you. You want to ban- you want to... date, my Mom, dude. It makes it weird."

"No. No, I don't." Moe's nose twitches. he messes with his gross bar rag, twisting and pulling it in his hands.

"Huh? Oh, shit, right. Smithers. How's being gay treating you?"

"I'm not gay."

"Shit, sorry. I'm really screwing up, huh?"

"You're not screwing up, kid. I'd be miffed if I didn't know you were, y'know, part of the alphabet soup, too, but I know you, and I know you ain't doing nothing on purpose."

"Oh. Cool."

Silence falls- not counting Barney's crying, which has progressed to sobbing at this point, because Bart's tuning that out.

It's awkward.

The soda's gross.

"So uh, how's Smithers?"

"He's good, Bart. Real good." Moe smiles a little bit and turns his face away. He taps his fingers against the bar. But like, in a weird way. Like he's trying to show off his hand- Oh, shit. There's a ring.

"Oh, holy cow, man. Congrats."

"He finally quit his job, y'know, after... Uh, well, after. It's been nice."

Bart doesn't respond, he knows Moe doesn't really want him to. There's silence, again. and the tension could probably be cut with a butter knife.

But Moe starts making this pinched face, like he wants to... connect. Wants to open up. Gross. 

"I don't think I ever. Uh, really.. Wanted, to be with your Mother."

"Oh God, can we not?" Bart shoves his head into his hands and groans. 

"Shut up and listen, huh? I just... I saw how Homer was treating Midge, and I couldn't- I cared so much about both of them, I couldn't pick a side like that. So I just.. I don't know. My therapist said I 'projected' onto her."

"Your therapist? Smithers is making you see a therapist? Yikes, Moe." Bart's needling, he knows he is, but he doesn't want to talk about this with Moe. God, no.

Moe looks angry, for a second, but his eyes change a little bit. What's the word? Right. Recognition. 

"Can it. He's seeing one too."

Bart wants to leave. He doesn't, though.

"You goin' somewhere with this, Moe?"

"Yes, in fact, I am, Bart. I couldn't be angry at Homer when he was alive, for everything-" his eyes flicker down to Bart's neck. It's blink-and-you'll-miss-it, but Bart didn't blink. "-he did. But now, I don't gotta worry about hurting him, cause he ain't around no more. And I know, I goddamn know you're angry at him. Angrier than me. Don't let people take that away from you. You've fucking earned it. You've earned being angry. Just don't hurt nobody innocent, during, y'know? It isn't nobody's fault but Homer's."

"...Okay." A beat, then "Thanks, Moe."

Before Moe can respond, Barney screams "I miss Homer!" and spirals into loud, gross, kind of wet sounding wails.

Moe runs over. "Hey hey, easy there, big guy. Let's not finish that beer, huh?"

Bart decides it's time to leave.


	5. Evergreen

Bart just kinda wanders for a while after he leaves Moe's. Not really anything else to do or anywhere else to go. So he wanders. Slowly. Homer broke his skateboard by 'accidentally' running it over, and he hasn't gotten a new one since. 

He passes an old lady. Her hair looks cleaned and combed, but with a real wonky haircut. She's repeating "Hello, it's nice to meet you, my name is Eleanor." over, and over, and over.

He passes an old playground that hasn't had any upkeep since he was like, 12. Everything's rusted or fallen over or vandalized, but there's some older teens and young adults hanging there. He recognizes a face and runs before they can spot him.

He passes the school. Passes a lot of buildings. He doesn't stop to look at them anymore. Just keeps wandering.

The sun starts to go down. He's been out since early. He's stumbled into the less safe part of Springfield. Not great to stay there after dark. He thinks about going home- Like Moe said. Not hurting people. But goddammit, they hurt him. Marge just watched every time. And Lisa manipulated and cried and made herself 'Daddy's little girl', so she was the star and he was the failure, even when she was acting like she was better than everyone else. Honestly, they all deserve to get their asses kicked. 

Where can he go? He doesn't want to stay up all night, even if it sounds like a good way to get back at them. He's too tired. He's exhausted. Couldn't even get a drink, screw Moe and his therapist.

Who would take him tonight? Who would let him couch surf? Milhouse... No, Not Milhouse. Can't. Nelson? Gross, no. No. Nope. Everyone either hates him, or makes him real uncomfortable. Which leaves one house. One place. (Not that they don't also make him uncomfortable, but there's levels.)

He pulls a hoodie out of his backpack. It's gray, way too big for him, which is perfect. He doesn't want anyone else to see him. 

He walks all the way back to Evergreen Terrace. By the time he gets there it's dark out completely. He dips his head forward, and walks quiet. Hello, devout Christians, here comes Bart, freshly grieving, aka, fresh meat to convert. God, he doesn't want Flanders to force him to read the Bible all night as punishment for his sinful ways or some shit, but It's better than going home.

He lingers at the door. Pulls out his hand. Puts it back in his pocket. Rinse and repeat. He's not even aware of it when his finger finally presses against the doorbell.

"Well, who could be ringing the door at this time of night? Alright, boys, you know what to do. Stay upstairs, door locked, until we know Ho- Oh. Right. Just.. Keep reading your books, where you are, I suppose."

He flinches when Flanders opens the door. Yikes. Embarrassing. 

"Hello, How can I- Oh! Hi-Diddly-ho, Bart. What brings you here?" He smiles. God, Bart hates it.

"He-eeey, Buddy, friend, uh... Fellow... Christian, which I already am, so-"

Flanders raises an eyebrow. He even manages to cross his arms, looking mildly displeased. "What do you want, Bart?"

"I need a place to stay, man. It's dark, and it's getting cold."

"Oh. Oh, Bart, did- did Marge kick- You're fifteen, you're just a b-" Flanders' face gets a little red, so Bart cuts him off. 

"No! No, it isn't like that, don't. Don't. I'm fine. It's fine. I just need a place to stay... Please."

"Alright, come on in. After all, 'Love thy neighbor'!"

He doesn't add 'ino' into that bible quote, but Bart hears it anyway.

He walks behind Flanders. It's warm inside. They must have the heater on.

The house is nice. Spotless. Lot of bible merch, of course, but that's obvious.

"Rod, Todd! Come help serve dinner! We're serving four tonight!" Flanders' says. 

In creepy twin unison, "Okay, Dad!" is yelled back. Bart can hear them pitter-patter to the kitchen, but Flanders' is already guiding him away to a hallway. 

"Listen, Bart, I know this may be upsetting, but I'm going to have to call your Mom and tell her that you're here. She must be worried by now." He says it quietly, like he's trying to not let Rod and Todd hear.

"That's fine, I'm not tripping about it, dude." Bart raises his voice louder than natural, just a little bit. Not loud enough to be yelling or anything, but loud enough that Rod and Todd could hear. It hurts a little, but it's worth it. Subtle snark.

"Good, that's good. Do you want to be close by while I call, or would you rather sit on the couch?"

"Uh. Doesn't matter."

Flanders nods, picking up a landline of all things, connected to the wall and everything. Who has a landline anymore, Jesus.

It makes little tones while he presses the numbers. then it's ring, ring, ring. Like a normal phone but not. 

"Hello, Marge! I just wanted to let you know that your son's here, in case you didn't know. We're having him over for dinner." Flanders has a polite smile, even though Marge can't see him smile through the landline. "Do you want me to get him home after we eat, or?"

There's a lot of noise coming from the other end. It's kinda screechy, so Bart can't really make anything out but 'Treehouse'. Oh, he might have screwed the pooch trapping Lisa up there. No regrets, though, it was worth it.

The more noise comes from the landline, the more Flanders' polite smile goes away. He looks.. Really uncomfortable. Angry? Bart's bad at facial expressions.

"Oh, well, uh.. See you at church on Sunday, then, neighbor-ino!" He puts the landline back in it's... Uh. Home? A little roughly. He pinches his eyes shut. He mutters "One, two, three," under his breath.

When he turns back around to face Bart, his smile is right back in place.

"Seems like you'll be staying with me for a few nights! I'll get some blankets and pillows set up on the couch after dinner."

Oh, fuck.


	6. Bland

Bart sits at the dinner table, trying really hard, really, to be polite. No elbows on the table, not slouching, not closing his eyes even though he's so, so tired.

Damn, Rod and Todd are good at setting up a table. Looks professional and shit, like one of those old paintings.

Oh, that reminds him. No swearing. Sinning is bad.

How long does he have to wait for them to sit at the table, too? He hasn't eaten in.. Shit, 3 days?

Rod and Todd sit down first. They whisper to each other under their breath, glance at him every few minutes. It's goddamn awkward.

"So, uh, when's Flanders' getting here?"

"He had to go and pray!" Todd says, cheerfully.

"Oh. Uh.. Why?"

"That's none of your business!" Todd says, again, just as cheerfully. Rod elbows Todd in a way that looks pretty painful.

"Okay, then. Uh."

He wishes he were dead, it'd be less awkward.

Rod's pulled out a flip-phone, and he types at it furiously. He looks really invested.

"You still, uh, go to... bible class, Rod? Todd?"

Rod snorts, not bothering to look up from his flip-phone. Todd just doesn't answer at all, leaning way forward in his seat, resting his elbows and his head on the table, turning his head so he's looking away.

God, he's hungry. Bart sits just as straight, arms under the table, just.. because it feels better than not doing that. It feels really weird that he's the most polite right now.

Just when he thinks this is Hell, 'cause nothing this awkward could be anything but Hell, Todd springs up, suddenly standing very straight, saying "God's in everything!" in a bit of a hushed tone. which.. what?

Rod scrambles, going "shit, shit," under his breath, which... _what?_ He shoves his phone in his pocket, very quickly putting his arms under the table, smile plastered on.

Flanders walks in from the direction Todd was looking. Oh. Clever. He was keeping watch.

"Is everyone ready for dinner?"

"Yes, Dad!" they both say, just slightly out of sync.

"Bart?" 

"Oh- Uh, yeah, that'd be great, man- Flanders."

Flanders smiles, sitting directly across from him at the table. It suddenly really bothers Bart that Rod and Todd are sitting on the same side of the table, instead of opposite from each other. It's uneven. 

"Would you like to lead us in saying grace, Bart?"

"Uh- I don't- we never-"

"That's alright."

Rod and Todd lean forward, clasping their hands and closing their eyes. Flanders does the same. 

"We thank the Lord for providing the food with which we are about to consume." Flanders says.

"Amen!" Goes Rod and Todd, this time in perfect sync. 

Oh yeah, you're supposed to say that. Bart stumbles out an amen, belatedly. 

"Alright, let's eat! You two did wonderfully setting up the table."

"Thank you, Dad!"  
"Thanks, Dad."

He can eat now? Cool. His plate has roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. It looks good until he takes a bite. Maybe seasoning is a sin?

The dinner is really quiet. Bart thinks that this family seems so...Normal. Flanders is so nice, everyone seems so happy. He wishes he were a part of it. But, no. This sorta thing isn't for him.

He wishes it was, though. Maybe he'd be better. Maybe Mo- No, screw that, and screw them. 

When dinner is over -thank God, that was the blandest shit he ever tasted, no offense- Flanders leads him to the couch. There's a thin blanket and a few pillows laying there.

"Please don't drink the fridge water. The filter's broken, and I haven't been able to replace it yet. Goodnight, Bart!" Flanders says, with a smile, of course.

"Night, Flanders."

Flanders turns off the light and leaves. Bart flops down on the couch. His phone buzzes. He ignores it.

He misses Mom.

He wish he didn't yell at Lisa. He needs Lisa.

Mom probably hates him.

Good. She should. He hates her.

...Does he? No, he does, he should, she sucks.

He doesn't need her. Or Lisa.

He keeps running that thought in his head, over and over. Staring at the ceiling is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

He doesn't need anybody. He doesn't need Milhouse, Or Lisa, or Marge, or Homer.

A hoodie on top of a sweatshirt is a nightmare, so he shrugs off the hoodie.

If they don't need him, he doesn't need them.

He's tired, but his throat hurts from the angle his neck is forced at on the couch, so sleep's a bit out of the question.

He doesn't need them. He doesn't need anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear that this story is in Bart's perspective, so the narration can be considered unreliable at times. Sorry this one is short!! The next chapter is a LOT longer, though. Interesting things happen.


	7. Glowstick

So the routine goes a little like this. Bart wakes up way too early, 6 AM, if he's lucky, because everyone's praying so goddamn loudly. They eat breakfast, but not before saying grace. They either go to school or church at 8 AM. They get home at 3 or 4 PM, then they watch Christian TV until 5. Rod and Todd start making dinner before Flanders comes home, Flanders gets home at 5:30, every single day. they pray, a-goddamn-gain, say grace, eat dinner. They get ready for bed, pray, go to bed at 9. Rinse and repeat until your brain turns to mush.

There's two things keeping Bart sane through all of that.

1\. Sometimes the Christian TV channels play Veggietales.  
2\. Rod and Todd are _up to something._

Evidence is as follows: They use "God is in everything!" as some weird code, to alert eachother that Flanders is coming by. They completely disappear, sometimes, instead of watching Christian TV. They blast Christian rock from their room way too loudly to not be suspicious. One time, Bart even saw Todd sneaking a carton of cigarettes into his room.

He rotates that in his brain while they watch TV. They're all waiting for Flanders to get home. Rod and Todd already got dinner ready and everything. It's 6 PM. Flanders always gets home at 5:30. Bart isn't worried or anything, but a part of him is wondering if Rod and Todd will be okay, y'know, if Flanders didn't make it. Flanders would never be late like that. Maybe he got in a crash. Or he choked on food at his lunch break. He'll help Rod and Todd before they're shipped off to an aunt or uncle, he thinks. Give them advice before they go. 

6:30, 7:00. Rod and Todd, they don't really seem worried. Jesus, how could they not be worried? They're just laughing their asses off at those Christian vegetables.

7:30, they're going up and down from their room, whispering to eachother and looking at Bart every few minutes. That shit gets old quick. The funny thing about Christian TV is that the more you watch it, the less bad it is.

8:00, RING, RING, RING, goes the stupid landline, all the way down the hallway. He isn't getting it, that's for damn sure.

"Oh, shit." Todd says, and God, Bart will never get used to them swearing.

"I'll get it, Todd."

Rod walks down the hallway. Before he steps out of Bart's line of sight, Bart notices he has a bracelet on. Woah.

"Hello?"

Bart can't catch the other side of the call.

"Oh, goodness! Are you okay? Okay, good. I love you, Dad, I'll tell Todd and Bart. Goodbye!"

He can hear the phone be put back in it's... hide-y hole?

When Rod walks to the living room, he is literally vibrating, grinning ear to ear.

"Dad's car broke down, he won't be coming back 'till tomorrow morning."

"Oh, that's gonna make things so much easier!" Todd squeaks, smiling just as wide, and then they're both staring directly at Bart.

"Whuh?"

"We're going to a party tonight, you wanna come?" Rod asks. He can see Todd mouthing "Say yes!"

"Oh, shit, okay."

"Yes!" "Fuck yeah!"

They practically sprint up the stairs, but Bart doesn't feel the need to hurry. What kind of party would they even go to? one with non-alcoholic beer, or something.

When he gets to their bedroom, it really doesn't seem any different than the rest of the house. Less purple curtains, maybe.

But, then, Rod opens a drawer, and, oh shit, there's a false bottom. "Come over here, Bart!" 

Damn, that's a lot of nail polish, in there. Not to mention makeup, a variety of little plastic pride flags, And a _lotta_ flip-phones. What's with this goddamn family and old phones, seriously?

He asks as much, and Rod responds, "They're burner phones. Can't be traced by contacting the service provider."

"Fuck, that's smart."

They go back to rustling around hiding spots in their room for various things. Todd unzips a pillow, and there's a few skirts in it. Rod searches through coat pockets and pulls a lot of makeup stuff out. Glitter, eyeshadow, brushes.

"What color eyeshadow you want?" Rod asks it so flippantly, like he's asking what Bart thinks about the weather.

"Woah, dude. I didn't say anything about makeup!"

"Oh! I understand. It can be a bit scary at first, to wear makeup."

Todd, across the room, pauses in pulling out a big, heavy looking box from under his bed to respond, "Yeah, Bart, it's okay to not feel brave about it!"

"Fuck you guys. I want black eyeshadow."

They both grin. 

When they're done with him, he kind of feels like when Maggie makes him play dress-up. To be fair, he thinks he looks nice. Sort of. All black and neon blue, from his bracelets to his makeup. At least he's wearing pants. Todd is decidedly not wearing pants. He's wearing a green fucking tutu, and Bart doesn't know what he expected.

"Hey!" Todd calls out. "Bart, Do you wanna wear clip-ons or do you wanna get your ears pierced? We have enough time, and I've pierced ears before."

\----

His ears still hurt. Todd is a fucking monster, Bart decides.

He feels cold even though he's wearing a t-shirt on top of a sweatshirt. All three of them are sitting on the grass in Flanders' yard.

He really regrets letting them convince him to wear platforms, his feet are already killing him. Why can't he ever back down from a challenge, fuck.

Rod's talking to someone on one of his many, many flip-phones. "Fuck, Jay, are you ever getting here? Shut up. Okay, okay, love you, see you in a few."

"Sorry, Bart. Might be a little while. Jay's a good person, but a terrible driver."

"It's fine, man."

Jesus, Rod wasn't kidding. It feels like forever. There's crickets. None of them talk, but Todd hums some songs under his breath. Bart's pretty sure he's heard whatever he's humming in church.

Finally, a black car shows up. It's all dented, and some parts are straight up missing, but there aren't any scratches. It's even still shiny.

Rod and Todd jump up, so Bart stands up, too.

And out walks... Jessica fucking Lovejoy, Jesus fucking Christ. Bart decides maybe reading a bible all night as punishment for his sinful ways would be better than having to see her, after four years. She sucks.

"Shit. This is the guy you're bringing, Rod?" Jessica puts her hands on her hips. There's like, three tattoos on her arms, minimum. All the lines are shaky, like she did them herself. 

"Is that a problem, Jay?"

Jessica looks... Nothing like what he remembers. She's been homeschooled for a while, so hasn't seen her much since he was 11, maybe. There's still a huge bow on her head, but that's where the similarities end. Her hair looks like she tried to cut it all off with kitchen scissors. At least she still smokes.

"No, nah. It's not a problem. I just, y'know, didn't think Bart was...- Ah, shit, whatever. Good for you, you little go-getter." She hits Rod on the shoulder, giving him a grin. Huh? Bart's lost wherever this conversation is going.

"Aaaa-nyway, get in the car." "We going to the party, or are you gonna get lost all night, again?" Rod snarks. Bart can't tell if they hate eachother or love eachother.

"No, I'm going to get lost, because I want to see you suffer. Get in the car, dumbass."

Todd calls the front seat, so Rod and Bart sit in the back. There's only two seats. Bart feels uncomfortably close to Rod.

The quiet is uncomfortable, too, and fuck, could Jessica not smoke so much? His throat hurts like hell.

When they get there Bart feels just a pinch of nerves, But he recognizes the house. Sherri and Terri's place. They live in a nicer part of Springfield, which makes him a little less nervous.

"A'ight, okay, Bart, just a quick run-down before we get out of the car," Jessica starts, "Don't fucking compare Sher' to Terri, okay? She'll punch your lights out. And whatever you do, don't call her Sherri."

"I thought Sherri and Terri loved being the same person."

"Yeah, a year ago. Dude, have you lived under a rock?"

"I may have been a bit busy, with my Dad dying."

"Shit, sorry." She quickly Jumps out of the car. Todd follows, then Rod. So he gets out, too.

Inside, it's dark as hell, and it smells like sweat, old beer, and puke. It kind of reminds him of Homer, which is weird, so he pushes that thought away pretty quick. The music is.. He doesn't know what it is. Really loud. He recognizes pretty much no one but 'Sher', 'Jay', Rod, and Todd, but at least all the other guys are wearing makeup, too.

The only real good part of the party, he thinks, is the balloons that cover the ceiling. They have a bunch of glow sticks taped to them, and it looks nice. The other 'good' part is that everyone's drinking a gross mix of Mountain Dew, Monster, avarious alcohols, and.. vinegar? for some reason, so no one notices that he's just drinking Mountain Dew and pretending to be drunk.

Cleanup's gonna be rough. Sherri and Terri's parents must be out for a while, if they don't feel worried about getting all those balloons down before they get back.

He slowly, slowly makes his way over to a corner, away from other people. It's.. Kind of nice, to be on the outside, looking in. He feels like a part of the fun without getting drunk or having to deal with people he's never met. It's a little lonely, but nice.

He hears a lot of people talking. Apparently, Terri and Sherri had a fight, like, a physical one, and they hate eachother now. After, their parents got divorced. They each took a different parent to avoid each other. Youch.

He wonders how long he's been here. There's a little chihuahua curled up in the corner under a table, shaking like a leaf. He feels a connection. He thinks about how if he was like Lisa, he'd want to be reborn as a little dog.

Oh, God. Someone's walking up to him. "Hey, I haven't seen you at one of these before. What's your name?" God, why.

Just smile, get the conversation over as soon as possible. "Bart. This is my first time."

"My name's Milhouse."

"What.- I, uh-"

"I know, I know, it's a weird name, it runs in the family. I'm from Shelbyville. You?"

"Oh. I'm from Springfield. Uh, I gotta.. Go take a dump, in. somewhere, else. Floor, maybe." Bart speedwalks away to try and find Rod and Todd. No thank you, he doesn't want to talk to Shelbyville Milhouse. Shelbyville Milhouse calls out an indignant "Hey!", so Bart walks a little faster.

Rod's walking towards him, already. Sweet, he doesn't have to find him. "Hey, we gotta get out of here pretty quick, Bart."

"Oh, dude, what? What happened?"

"Jay got in a fight with Sherri." 

There's Jessica. Damn, her face is messed up. It must have been one hell of a fight.

And then comes Todd, angrier than Bart's ever seen him. Which isn't all that angry, but still. "She thought Sherri was Terri."

"That was no reason for her to fucking clock me!" She waves her arms. Her face is really red. And purple.

"Ugh, you suck, Jay. How are we even gonna get out of here? We should have thought about getting a designated driver or something," Rod grumbles.

"I'm gonna be real, guys. I've just been drinking Mountain Dew in the corner here. I'm sober," Bart admits.

"Oh, sweet! you can drive, then?" Jessica asks.

"I don't have a license, but I know how. Let's uh, get out of here, 'cause I see Sherri looking right at us, and, dudes, she does not look happy."

\----

He hates driving, but it's fine.

Rod's in the front seat, this time. Todd and Jessica sit in the back.

"Who needs fuckin' Sherri, huh? Let's just go to the hills near Mammon to watch the meteor shower," Jessica says.

"Mammon- Like, where Burns lives?" Bart asks.

"Duh."

"I didn't even know there was a meteor shower tonight, dude." Bart mumbles.

"Jesus, seriously? That was the whole reason Sherri had her little goddamn pow-wow."

"Are you physically able to not be a bitch for five minutes, Jay? Fuck, You got Sher pissed for funsies, it's not her fault you can't fight for shit." Rod groans. He even sticks his tongue out at her, waving his hands everywhere- Including in front of Bart's face.

"Get back here and fight me, Flanders."

"I told you not to call me that!" Are these two fucking children? Is Bart in a car full of 10 year olds?

"Hey! Can you guys knock it off?! Fuck!" Bart yells. 

"Sorry, Bart," Rod says. Jessica just huffs, mumbling something about Bart's shorts. Bart is 90 percent sure he is not wearing shorts.

\----

It's cold as all hell out.The meteor shower is nice, though. They're all laying on the grass, cracking a few glow sticks over and over, passing a bottle they grabbed before they ditched the party. 

"I'm so glad our Dad's car broke down. He wouldn't let us watch the Meteor Shower, cause it's 'too late at night' to watch it, since it's a Saturday night, or some shit." Rod says, waving his glow stick.

"Ugh, yeah. He treats us like eight year olds, sometimes. For fuck's sake, I'm 14, and Rod's 15. We're too old to be treated like infants.

"Jesus, that sucks. My Dad just doesn't give a shit at all. He still hasn't noticed my stick and pokes. Or my haircut." Jessica takes a big gulp out of the bottle, spilling some of it out of her mouth when she talks.

"Our Dads suck in completely opposite directions, I swear The only way we could get him to not use one of those Circles to stalk us was by convincing him Disney was satanic. We can only watch Christian TV now, but hey, it's better than the alternative." Todd's smiling when he talks about it. It's weird that he can smile while he talks about that.

"Yo, is it my turn?" Bart feels like he's fucking earned talking about this shit. He grabs the bottle out of Jessica's hand and swallows a mouthful out of mystery alcohol. It burns his throat going down, but it makes him feel a little better.

"Yeah, Bart, go ahead." Rod coaxes. He puts his hand on Bart's shoulder and squeezes a little.

"We're like, right next to Mr Burn's mansion, right? I don't even wanna get into all my shit with my Dad, it's way too complicated, but, okay.. Mr. Burns. I can't decide if I hate him, or he's great. Boo, he killed my Dad, but also, he got rid of my Dad. Is that screwed up?"

"Nah. The way you feel can't ever be fucked up, cause you can't control how you feel. It's not like you're going down the street and telling everyone Burns killing your dad was a good thing." Jessica says. Her eye is starting to bruise. She doesn't look like she cares.

"Yeah. It doesn't have to be one or the other. You can hate and love your Dad, too." Todd responds.

"Oh fuck, yeah. Me and Todd love our Dad, but it sucks we have to sneak around him so much. Doesn't mean we don't love him, but... Still, it'd be nice if we didn't have to hide our clothes underneath floorboards." Rod laughs.

"Dude, it's different when your Dad's dead. You don't know how it feels." Bart realizes that he fucked up as soon as he says it. 

"We don't?" Todd asks, howling like that's the funniest thing in the world.

"Fuck, I forgot. You guys just seem so.. I don't know. It makes me forget. Anyway, I just wish I could like, say something to Burns, I guess. Like, 'thank you for killing my Dad, but also I'm going to kick your ass for killing my Dad.'" 

Jessica sits straight up. She's grinning."You wanna do that? We're right next to Burns' house. You've snuck in before, right?" it's hard to hear her, Todd's still laughing really, really loudly.

"I mean, yeah."

Jessica mimes someone walking with her fingers. "It's perfect!" she insists.

"It is? I mean... Yeah, fuck. I could make a whole thing of it. Thank him, and then fuck him up."

"Uh, you sure that's a good idea, Bart? I mean, ha-ha, Burns has pretty good security- and guard dogs." Todd's finally stopped laughing, thank God.

"Relax, Bart knows what he's doing." Rod responds. He looks Bart directly in the eye. "But, I could give you a kiss for good luck, if you wanted?"

Oh, No. God, no.

"Maybe after I get back, Rod?" or never. Never is good.

"We'll watch your back, tell you if there's any guards nearby." Jessica says. She's bouncing up and down. 

"Yeah!" Rod says. "Jeez, imagine you. Beating up Burns and getting away with it. Nobody'd forget it, ever."

Okay. Yeah. He's going to thank the old man, then he's gonna kick his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can actually get drunk off of vinegar, if you're very very lightweight. This isn't that- it's based off a rumor I heard that vinegar makes you drunker if you mix it with alcohol (it doesn't.)
> 
> I want to make it clear that the advice/opinions the characters show or have is not supposed to be ideal, or even good 100 percent of the time. I'm just trying to aim for realistic. Things people might actually say or think about abuse and grief.
> 
> Anyway! The next chapter is gonna be really fun to write so expect to see it soon!!!


End file.
